


Body Electric

by orphan_account



Series: Devotion [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (but not between Victor and Yuuri), Accidental Voyeurism, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, Infidelity, Intersex Omegas, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Marathon Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Omega Verse, Omega Victor Nikiforov, Omega/Omega, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Skinny Dipping, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-31 03:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20108428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Omegas Victor and Yuuri have officially consummated their secret relationship - but they still have a lot to learn about each other, both physically and otherwise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> they just fuck a lot
> 
> sorry if you were hoping for plot fam gsldkjfhlsdfjgkg thatll happen like???? maybe 2 installations from now??
> 
> title from the walt whitman poem because he's a thirsty ho and so are these boys!!!! it was originally gonna be a lana del rey lyric. i literally googled "thirstiest lana del rey songs" but no one's made that listicle because nothing good ever happens.
> 
> enjoy!!!! part 2 next weekend, i think you're really gonna like it ;) (unless you were looking for plot)

Victor is fucking _insatiable._

It’s been a few weeks, now, since Yuuri heard the unfamiliar omega in Dmitry’s room, since he and Victor made love for the first time, since he felt something strange and wonderful in his chest at the sight of those beautiful blue eyes and pleading, parted lips.

It’s been a few weeks, and Yuuri has already had more sex than in the entire rest of his adult life, combined.

That’s mostly Victor’s doing. Victor, who follows him around like a very clingy, very horny puppy.

Yuuri will be on his work laptop, deep in an email conversation with Victor’s stylist to remind her that the certain polyester blend some company uses causes rashes on his sensitive skin, so it’s not appropriate for Victor to be the representative for their new fall line-

And Victor will enter the office, humming and running thin fingers with bright red, short nails through his flowing silver hair, and drape his whole body over Yuuri. His chin rests on Yuuri’s shoulder, and he presses little kisses along Yuuri’s exposed neck, pausing right over his sensitive scent gland-

And his mouth closes over it, warm and wet, his tongue lapping all along the gland and suckling at it like he does the dark nipples on Yuuri’s breast.

Yuuri cries out, writhing at the sensation of Victor’s mouth on his neck, legs spreading slightly as slick begins to dampen his panties beneath his slacks.

“Someone will see,” Yuuri gasps, “If you keep going, h-hah-”

He spreads his legs further, head lolling back. Victor’s hand slips to his crotch, massaging the moistening spot between his trembling thighs. His tongue still laps at Yuuri’s sensitive scent gland, his hands rub his swollen cocklet, the fabric of his thin panties creates a delicious friction against his dripping folds.

Victor’s breath becomes heavy, and the slick sounds of Victor touching himself reaches Yuuri’s ears. Their scents mingle, spiced and floral, and when Victor moans into Yuuri’s neck the sound ripples right down to his cocklet.

Yuuri’s coming, he’s coming and he’s going to soak his pants, and Victor is getting himself off in time with the rough strokes of Yuuri’s cocklet-

And their days continue like that.

They’re discussing a potential sponsorship, and Yuuri says, “Avena Beauty wants you to try their new organic, Mediterranean olive oil hair mask. It’s scented with rose water and lemon. Would you be interested?”

And he sees Victor, he sees Victor staring at him, his pupils blown wide and his gaze directly down at Yuuri’s chest, where he’s forgotten to button the top button.

At the beginning, Yuuri had tried to snap him out of it – it’s difficult to plan Victor’s life when Victor is completely and utterly captivated by something – but when Victor gets that look in his eye Yuuri knows he’ll be distracted and clingy until Yuuri has lavished attention on him to his satisfaction.

So he smiles ruefully, unbuttons another button, and holds his arms out for Victor to fall into, sticks his chest out for Victor to latch onto and suckle on until his nipples are swollen, dark, and puffy. His hands run down Victor’s back, gripping the firm flesh of his ass through his pants. He’s wearing briefs today, and Yuuri smiles into the top of Victor’s head as he hooks his thumb underneath the band.

* * *

Victor is doing a photoshoot.

An all-cotton activewear brand has reached out to give Victor a sponsorship, so he needs to take a set of photos promoting their new line. Yuuri has been a bit overwhelmed by the affection from Victor – simply because he’s not used to anyone desiring him as voraciously as Victor seems to. When he sees Victor in the clothes, though, he is hit with a wave of tingling desire as he thinks back to his first day on the job.

Victor poses flirtatiously in nothing but a sports bra and leggings. There’s a beach not too far from the house where the photoshoot is taking place, and the salt spray adds an effortless volume to Victor’s long silver hair.

“I think you’ll like this next one,” Victor winks at him as he heads back to the studio to put on a new outfit.

Yuuri flushes as a few camera operators and employees glance to him. Victor really shouldn’t flirt with him in public-

And then Victor steps out. In addition to athletic shoes and knee high socks, he’s wearing a black mesh sports bra and shorts so tight and tiny they might as well be a thong – Yuuri can see his entire ass and it’s making him feel so many things.

His nipples are hard through the shirt, hard and puffy like he’d been pinching them in the dressing room. When he lifts his leg to pose on a rock, his ass jiggles tantalizingly.

Yuuri knows very well what Victor’s body looks like by now, and he loves seeing him in all sorts of outfits and accessories. Victor poses with a wink towards the camera, towards Yuuri, and Yuuri feels – well. It’s hot, of course, everything about Victor is hot, but Yuuri doesn’t need Victor to pose like that to be attracted to him. He’d feel that way no matter what.

He certainly can’t resist when Victor beckons him into the dressing room after the shoot is over, still dressed in the mesh top and thong.

Victor lies back on the couch, giggling, sending Yuuri a sultry gaze from beneath lashes thick with mascara.

Yuuri smiles. “Hey, you,” he says.

“Yuuri,” Victor whines, “Why are you so far away?”

“Um,” Yuuri stammers, self-preservation overwhelming the tingling between his legs, “Is this a good idea? There are people everywhere.”

“I’ve told them I need to be alone for just a bit. No one will come in,” Victor grins.

“But won’t they hear us?” Yuuri manages, staring up and down Victor’s lithe body.

Victor winks. “Guess I’ll just have to try to keep quiet.”

He spreads his thighs apart, the muscles rippling in that way Yuuri loves. Beneath the black cotton of the thong – Yuuri really can’t manage to call it a pair of shorts. Who on earth would work out in something like that? Is this some new kind of ath-lingerie? - Yuuri can see the slight bulge of his cocklet.

Yuuri licks his lips. It’s just there, twitching beneath the fabric, while Victor leans his head back and stretches the mesh top across his chest with feverish intensity. One of his nipples pops through the mesh, and he lets out a whimper as the fabric rustles against it.

“Oh, _Yuuri_,” Victor moans.

It feels just as staged at the photo. Not Victor’s desire, Yuuri thinks that is clearly genuine – but the noises he’s making seem like what he _thinks_ Yuuri wants to hear.

That won’t do.

Yuuri only wants to hear Victor crying out in genuine pleasure. He sees Victor’s cocklet beneath the fabric, and he wants to put his mouth on it, suck on it until Victor is a writhing, moaning mess.

He wants to – and why shouldn’t he?

Yuuri sinks to his knees between Victor’s spread legs and places his mouth on the skimpy fabric there, tonguing at the swollen cocklet. Will that be in the magazine, the swell of Victor’s desire, the stain of dampness on the thong?

Victor whimpers, a little more genuine, and Yuuri makes sure his lips move just so against the fabric, so the fabric creates delicious friction against his cocklet.

“Yuuri,” Victor whimpers.

Yuuri gazes up at him, at the fat bud of his nipple between the mesh, bright pink like his flushed chest. He takes the fabric of the thong and tugs it up, sucking at Victor’s cocklet while the fabric brushes against it.

Victor cries out, and Yuuri thinks someone’s going to hear them – but then he tugs harder so the fabric bunches between Victor’s quivering folds, slick coating it and Victor’s thick, heady scent coming through.

Yuuri loves the sounds Victor is making now, no pretense, not trying to be sexy – just raw, ragged cries at the rub of fabric and lap of Yuuri’s tongue against his cocklet. Yuuri thumbs at Victor’s folds, spilling over the thong, stroking the puffy pink of them.

“I’m coming,” Victor sobs, cocklet twitching, “I’m-”

Victor is fondling his chest, rubbing the sports bra all along his swollen nipples for even more friction.

He cries out again, thighs trembling, slick soaking through the underwear and Yuuri sucks him to completion.

“Yuuri,” Victor sobs, splayed out in the dressing room, fabric bunched between his folds and bra rumpled.

Yuuri loves how he can make Victor act like this. He doesn’t ever want Victor to perform for him – not when he’s so beautiful just like this.

“C’mere,” Victor giggles, dopily, “Your turn.”

Yuuri falls into his arms gladly.

* * *

Victor can barely keep his hands off of Yuuri on their chauffeured drive back. As soon as they get back to the house, Victor tugs Yuuri into a broom closet and eats Yuuri out until Yuuri feels like his whole body is on fire and he’ll always feel Victor’s mouth on him.

There’s a click of footsteps outside, and Yuuri shoves his fist against his lips to stop himself from moaning.

“Damn,” he hears. “Are there really no earlier flights?”

Dmitry is home.

Yuuri looks down. Victor is scowling, tongue still inside Yuuri, and he blows out a breath before continuing to probe inside of him, distracted now. Yuuri still bites back a whimper at the feeling of Victor’s tongue inside of him.

Dmitry continues to chat on the phone, right outside the closet.

“Of course. A rendezvous in Paris would be wonderful,” he says. “I’m thinking a table at _Guy Savoy_. Could you – of course, of course. Thank goodness for your connections, darling.”

Yuuri isn’t sure who he’s talking to, but this doesn’t seem like a work meetup. Does Dmitry take Victor on dates to Paris, to the finest restaurants in the city? It doesn’t seem like it. While Dmitry travels, Victor stays in their (admittedly lovely, lavish) home with no one to look after him.

No one, except now Yuuri.

The door creaks as Dmitry leans against it, speaking terribly accented French. Yuuri doesn’t speak it, but he’s very familiar with French linguistics and pronunciation as part of his major.

“S-should we,” Yuuri mutters, as quiet as he possibly can, “Should we stop?”

Victor shakes his head, eyes glittering mischievously, and sucks Yuuri so hard he sees stars.

* * *

“I saw your photos on instagram,” Dmitry says.

Yuuri whirls around, brushing through Victor’s hair right before they turn in for the night. He’s relieved that Dmitry hasn’t caught them doing anything more scandalous – they certainly have spent many evenings fucking before Victor goes to sleep for the night, and before Victor does his twelve-step skincare routine with Yuuri’s help.

Victor’s libido is definitely higher than Yuuri’s, or at least his levels of sexual frustration are, so some nights Yuuri will just casually finger Victor while he checks Twitter or Victor’s email, trying not to grin as Victor gets increasingly red-faced and whiny until he comes all over Yuuri’s hand.

Luckily, or perhaps not, Victor seems somewhat subdued tonight.

Dmitry leans at the doorframe of Victor’s room, shoulders broad, skin artificially tanned. His hair is coiffed, just-so, like he’s waiting for someone to come over and see him. Yuuri narrows his eyes at that, especially as a message pops up on Dmitry’s smartwatch and he quickly twists his wrist so Victor can’t see it.

“Ah,” Victor says carefully, “What did you think?”

Dmitry grins. “Sexy. Can’t believe you’re all mine.”

He comes to hold Victor from behind, and Yuuri scrambles out of the way, huffing at being treated as though he isn’t even there.

“So gorgeous,” he grins, kissing Victor’s neck from his collarbone to his jaw. “The way you looked in those pants. The things I wanted to do to you.”

“Mm, really?” Victor giggles. He looks like he’s in a daze, eyes glassy. He asks nonchalantly, but Yuuri knows how serious he is with that question. It makes something unpleasant spark in Yuuri’s gut.

“Really,” Dmitry laughs, low and sultry. “When you dress all sexy like that I barely even notice your unflattering jawline.”

“I,” Victor shakes his head, coming out of his daze. “I – oh.”

“I’m off to bed,” Dmitry says, kissing Victor on the top of his forehead. As he leaves the room, Yuuri gets a whiff of his cologne, and he doesn’t for an instant believe that Dmitry is actually going to sleep.

Victor stares after him, something lost in his gaze, and he opens his mouth as though to say something before closing it again with a frown.

Yuuri picks the brush back up, tapping on it to call Victor’s attention.

Victor starts, flushing dark pink, and offers Yuuri a strained smile.

“I’ll take care of the rest of it,” he says, smile fake and eyes unhappy. “See you tomorrow, hm?”

“I,” Yuuri frowns, wondering what he should do, wondering why he feels a twinge of hurt at being dismissed like this. “I, alright. If that’s what you want.”

Makkachin comes to sniff at Victor’s feet, and Victor scratches behind her ears absently.

“I,” Victor frowns, confused. He nods, uncertainly.

It’s not a real confirmation, but what can Yuuri do? He’s just sleeping with Victor. What can he offer in a situation like this?

“Good night,” Yuuri murmurs, kissing Victor’s forehead, right over the spot where Dmitry kissed him. He wants that to be the last thing Victor feels before bed, not his husband, the cruel, careless thing. “He’s wrong, you know. Your jawline is lovely.”

Victor doesn’t call him back, doesn’t respond, but his gaze follows Yuuri out the door.

* * *

Yuuri really, really doesn’t like Dmitry.

He’d thought he didn’t like Dmitry, but that was before he realized that in the aftermath of a fight, or just a bad interaction with him, Victor becomes completely despondent.

Yuuri hadn’t realized before, because before Victor hadn’t clung to him and spent every waking moment with his mouth attached to some part of Yuuri’s body. Victor creates a careful, cheerful mask, and Yuuri hadn’t noticed how wrong it was before he knew what Victor, genuinely happy, looked like.

He wants to take Dmitry and shake him. Shout, “Victor is your _husband_. Why don’t you love him? Why don’t you take care of him?”

The next morning at breakfast – Dmitry is there, inexplicably, and Victor keeps trying to make conversation with him in between sips of protein shake. He’s freshly showered, his hair still wrapped in a towel to air dry before the day’s events. Yuuri checks Victor’s email, responds to inquiries and the like, in between watching water drip down the smooth curve of Victor’s neck.

“What are you up to today?” Victor tries.

Dmitry just grunts and stares down at his phone fixatedly, tapping away at the keypad. His phone isn’t on silent, so Yuuri hears every click, like he’s typing on a physical keyboard. Yuuri gnashes his teeth at the sound.

It’s painful to watch the resignation sink into Victor’s expression, the rejection. His entire posture changes, shoulders hunching.

Dmitry eventually looks up, snorting as he tugs at a roll on Victor’s stomach before going back to his phone. Hurt flashes across Victor’s face, fury burns in Yuuri’s gut.

Victor glowers and tugs back.

Dmitry looks up from his phone and snaps, “I’m busy, Victor. Stop distracting me.”

The hurt expression is back on Victor’s face. Yuuri thinks to Victor following him around, clinging to him, touching him casually. Intimately. Desperately.

_Why did you even come to breakfast?_ Yuuri thinks bitterly at Dmitry.

“Victor,” Yuuri says, slamming his hands down on the table and standing, “We have to go. Remember, we have the um. The meeting.”

Victor stares at Yuuri for a moment, confused. Then, realization dawns on his face, and he scrambles up as well. “Right, that. That meeting. We really must go.”

He downs the last of his protein shake and takes Yuuri by the arm. It’s quite possibly the shittiest excuse Yuuri has come up with – but luckily Dmitry really doesn’t seem to be paying attention. If Yuuri focuses carefully, he thinks he can see a purpling hickey just below Dmitry’s collarbone.

Dmitry doesn’t even look up from his phone.

* * *

They make their way to the gardens, Victor’s arms around his stomach self consciously. His hair isn’t completely dry yet, and strands of it falls in damp waves over his shoulders and down his back. They’ll straighten eventually as the water evaporates from them, but for now, Yuuri watches them bounce limply.

It’s so unfairly beautiful here, the lush, carefully manicured grass, the grove of orange trees, the local flora blooming with the same shimmering reds and oranges as a sunset.

Dmitry has talked about preserving local plants and providing a habitat for local fauna in magazines again and again, and there are gardeners and camera crews in and out fairly frequently. It’s – nice. Yuuri knows it’s performative, but he can’t really complain that Dmitry is interested in conservation, except that he _can_ because him liking pretty flowers doesn’t stop him from treating his husband like garbage.

It’s empty now – Victor gets up so early that the gardeners haven’t come in for the day, even after breakfast.

There’s a crystal clear pool just beyond the orange grove, close enough that the scent of orange blossom wafts over the water and the décor when the trees are in bloom. It masks the tang of chlorine from the pool, too, though Yuuri has always though that smell reminded him of summer.

It’s always summer here, practically.

Victor laughs suddenly, plopping down gracelessly into a lawn chair.

“You know,” he sighs, “Back when we were first married, Dmitry and I used to come down here on long summer evenings, when the staff had gone home but it was still light out.”

“Really?” Yuuri says, trying for nonchalance. He feels a strange stab of jealousy at that. Why should he care? This isn’t a real relationship, after all.

Victor smiles wistfully. “We used to go skinny dipping in the water. I guess he thought I was sexier back then.”

“Victor,” Yuuri says slowly, “Weren’t you like, eighteen?”

Victor flushes. “I was nineteen! It’s not like he’s much older than me.”

Yuuri frowns. He’s not sure if he’s ready to debate the ethics of marrying eighteen year olds with Victor – he’s not sure if _Victor_ is ready for that either. Dmitry wasn’t very old himself. Yuuri is twenty three, and the thought that in two years he might be married – impossible. Unbelievable.

And Yuuri certainly wouldn’t marry an eighteen year old, no matter how many titles they would give him.

Victor is looking down with a crease between his brow, and Yuuri realizes that he dislikes that nearly as much as he dislikes that fake smile Victor will put on when he doesn’t want Yuuri to worry about him, now knowing it makes Yuuri worry even more.

“I think you’re very sexy,” Yuuri says.

Victor gives him a wobbly smile.

Yuuri frowns. He walks to the edge of the pool, wondering what he can do, what he can give to Victor to bring him out of this. If Yuuri were Victor’s husband, he would tell him every single day how beautiful he was, how cherished, how lovely.

He’d take that sculpture Victor’s mother made and display it in the atrium of this grand place, decorate the marble arches with little anachronistic sculptures of all sizes.

He unbuttons the top button of his shirt.

Victor’s gaze snaps up.

When are the gardeners coming in?

_Fuck it, _Yuuri thinks, and he drops his pants to his ankles.

There’s a little bit of fumbling – the buttons and zippers and ties that make his outfit look particularly chic and professional make it difficult to take off in a moment of passion (which Yuuri internally curses not for the first time) – but soon enough Yuuri stands naked before the pool, risking a glance backwards as he drops his glasses to the water’s edge.

Victor stares at him, slack-jawed. Yuuri flushes to his toes when Victor looks down to check out his ass.

A little voice in the back of his head screams at him _what if someone sees_ while another tries to argue _good, let Dmitry see what he’s missing out on_.

Yuuri grins and jumps into the pool.

It’s _freezing_.

“Shit,” Yuuri swears as he comes up for air, “Shit, ooh shit, c-cold-”

Victor laughs, just finishing pulling down his panties, and jumps in after him. There’s a pool heater, but of course Yuuri hadn’t turned that on.

“Wow!” Victor cries, swimming gracefully to the surface. “It really is cold!”

He brushes his hair out of his face, winking at Yuuri, and kicks his feet lazily until he’s at a portion of the pool he can stand in.

Yuuri follows him, huffing, and wraps his arms around Victor’s neck as they both stand in the freezing water. Their naked bodies press together, the hot puff of Victor’s breath tantalizing against Yuuri’s lips.

“Mm,” Yuuri grins, pressing just a little closer, so their lips almost touch. “Gorgeous.”

Victor laughs. He pulls back, teasing, and sinks into a lazy backstroke, swimming circles around Yuuri.

“You think so?” Victor bats his eyelashes. “I could say the same about you. You have to warn me before you let me look at your ass this early in the morning!”

Victor laughs again, staring up into the bright, cloudless sky, His muscles ripple as he swims, strong arms and thick thighs and long silver hair.

“You look like a mermaid,” Yuuri says, unable to stop himself.

“Oh?” Victor grins, coquettish. “Would that make you my sailor prince?”

Yuuri laughs, covering his teeth with his hands. He shakes his head. “If you want me to be.”

“Mm, maybe just a sailor,” Victor smiles, settling back to tug Yuuri’s hand from in front of his lips, “Being royalty isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“I can do that,” Yuuri breathes, leaning in to Victor’s touch.

“In that case,” Victor says – and splashes Yuuri, swimming away quickly. “You’ll have to catch me.”

Yuuri splutters, coughing as water goes into his mouth, but he laughs and laughs and pushes off _hard_ to swim after Victor.

Victor dodges him a few times, swimming beneath his spread legs, and for a moment Yuuri manages to trap Victor between his thighs before he wriggles out again and resurfaces at the other end of the pool.

Yuuri corners him eventually, pressing him roughly back against the edge of the pool chest to chest and lips barely touching.

“I’ve got you,” Yuuri whispers.

“Mm, that you have,” Victor grins.

Yuuri kisses him there, tasting chlorine and cool water. He grips the ladder, arm encircling Victor’s thin waist, their legs floating and tangling together.

Victor’s knee goes between his thighs, sending a spark of pleasure pooling in Yuuri’s gut. He moans into Victor’s mouth, sliding his slick-soaked folds along Victor’s thigh.

“Yuuri,” Victor moans as Yuuri raises his knee to do the same, Victor’s cocklet slick even in the water.

Yuuri has a sudden flash of his sister bursting into the onsen kitchen at six in the morning, shouting, “Someone had sex in the fucking pool again! It clogged up the drain. Fucking _tourists_!”

“Mm,” Yuuri moans, trying not to wince as he remembers that particular unfortunate need to call the plumbers, “Victor, come out of the water with me?”

Victor nods, breathlessly, and they scramble out of the pool, still kissing, still clinging to each other.

The marble around the pool is slippery, so Yuuri gently lays Victor beneath him, careful of his long hair. He reaches down, tickling the silver hair below Victor’s navel, grinning when Victor’s belly sucks in.

“Yuuri,” Victor whines, “You know I’m ticklish.”

“I do,” Yuuri responds.

Victor pouts, but that pout turns into a gasp of pleasure when Yuuri’s fingers dip lower, just above where Victor’s cocklet peeks out, hard and pink, from between his folds.

Watching Victor’s face is wonderful, the way his carefully composed mask slips off and he allows himself to feel. Yuuri probes deeper, pressing into the plush warmth of his entrance, thumb stroking along Victor’s twitching cocklet.

It’s tight, sensual, the way Victor’s walls clench around his fingers.

“You feel wonderful,” Yuuri murmurs, stroking the sensitive walls with his two fingers. He feels warm, soft like velvet.

“Ah,” Victor cries, arching his back. “S-shouldn’t I be the one saying that?”

Victor tugs Yuuri to the ground with him, so they’re lying side by side, and he strokes Yuuri’s sensitive folds tenderly. Yuuri brings their lips together, taking Victor’s cocklet with his other hand, Victor spreading his legs wide to give Yuuri better access.

Yuuri does the same, chests pressed together but legs spread apart, Victor’s fingers pressing into Yuuri’s wetness and Yuuri’s fingers into Victor’s.

He never thought he’d like the feeling of something inside him, but Victor’s hands curl just so, touching the sensitive spots deep inside him. Yuuri tries to touch Victor like Victor is touching him, and he wonders, waves of pleasure washing over him, if Victor has done this with omegas before or if he’s just using his fingers like he has on himself on long, lonely nights.

Victor’s breath is hot when he pulls back, and for a moment they just lie there, panting into each other’s mouths, soaking in the slick sounds their bodies make.

“Please,” gasps Victor, and Yuuri fingers him harder, Victor’s walls sucking against his finger. Each touch is like fire, Victor spreading Yuuri’s pussy wide and scissoring his fingers inside. The stretch is delicious, Victor’s body is delicious.

Yuuri feels exposed, but the thrill of it just makes him want this more. He thinks of how they must look, the lewd sounds their bodies are making, what they’re doing to each other.

“I’m coming,” Victor gasps, “I’m close, I’m – please, don’t stop.”

Yuuri nods, kissing Victor with lips and teeth and tongue, nibbling at Victor’s lower lip. He’s so familiar with this by now, too, how Victor’s thighs will tighten and he’ll clamp down with his whole body, squeezing Yuuri’s fingers as his orgasm washes over him. The sudden, jerky motion of his hips, his walls contracting and clenching against Yuuri’s fingers, his cocklet bobbing and flushed red-

Victor fingers him still, crying out as Yuuri strokes his hypersensitive folds, as Yuuri thinks the red of his cheeks must match the red between his legs right now.

And then Yuuri is coming too, coming with Victor’s fingers inside him, that familiar build of beautiful tension until it all releases like the snap of a rubber band and Yuuri _wails_.

He can feel his pussy still contracting even as Victor pulls his sticky fingers out of him, and they both lie there on their backs in the morning sun, naked by the pool.

Victor lets out a low, keening whine, knees falling to the side so he’s completely exposed.

“_Wow_,” he says, sort of dazed.

“Like I said,” Yuuri gasps, still catching his breath. He rolls onto his side to kiss Victor on the cheek. “Very sexy.”

* * *

And suddenly, Victor can’t keep his hands off him again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think u guys are really gonna like this chapter >:3c

It all comes to a head one lazy afternoon, the late summer sun bright through the library windows. The collection of books here is massive – larger than any personal collection that Yuuri has ever seen. There are huge stacks of art books, classic literature, and a few first additions of nineteenth century Russian novels.

Other than a well loved stack of puzzle books, comics, and craft books, all of them gather dust at an alarming rate.

One of the housekeepers has a nasty sinus infection, so Yuuri has offered to help dust the shelves. He’s no stranger to cleaning, but he certainly has never cleaned a room quite so grand as this before.

The simple feather duster doesn’t quite seem right, Yuuri feels like he aught to be using something either more industrial or something from the eighteen hundreds as he sweeps away dust, a mask over his face, an apron over his normal uniform.

Victor comes to find him, because Victor clings to him with a desperation that Yuuri finds both endearing and heartbreaking. Yuuri wonders, not for the first time, if the ideal outcome from their relationship is that Dmitry starts treating Victor better, and if that’s even a possibility. Would it really make up for all of this?

Is their relationship salvageable? Would Dmitry even try to work towards being better?

Victor attaches to him immediately, crying, “Yuuri! I’m so _bored_.”

Normally, when Yuuri is on a break from his responsibilities, Victor will play with Makkachin. Yuuri always knows when she’s at the groomers not just because he knows Victor’s schedule by heart now, but because Victor seems to get fidgety when he’s by himself, so he seeks Yuuri out.

Yuuri certainly likes Victor’s voracity, but he feels like this isn’t something that they can keep up. Victor will pull him into closets, into changing rooms, anywhere – he refuses to wait. Yuuri wouldn’t necessarily have an issue with that, but it makes him nervous. He doesn’t want them to be discovered, no matter how much he pictures the look on Dmitry’s face when he finds out.

Still, though, it’s hard to resist Victor’s batted eyelashes and soft lips.

“You know, Yakov asked me for help,” Yuuri says pointedly, waving the feather duster in Victor’s face. He pulls the mask off and drops it onto the desk beside him.

Victor sneezes.

“Bless you,” Yuuri says, turning back to the shelf.

“Aw,” Victor whines, “Yuu_ri_.”

He nuzzles into Yuuri’s neck, pressing kisses all along the length of it.

“Victor,” Yuuri hisses, “There are so many people around the house!”

“No there aren’t!” Victor sniffs. “I didn’t pass anyone on the way down. Pretty please? Just something quick?”

Yuuri sighs. The library door is closed, the curtains shuttered to prevent light from damaging the rare books and prints. Still, though, Yuuri doesn’t know who’s out and about at this time of day. There’s also the little niggling sensation in the back of his head, getting louder and louder and louder, that is showing concern for just how desperately Victor seems to need this. While Yuuri doesn’t mind it right now, he thinks that if Yuuri ever did reject him, Victor would be absolutely devastated.

Which Yuuri doesn’t want, but he also wants to feel free to decline sex if he ever so chooses without worrying about Victor’s mental state, but-

Yuuri kisses Victor. This has opened up quite the can of worms in Yuuri’s mind, and he doesn’t want to think about that. It’s fine, this is fine. Yuuri is having more sex than the entire rest of his adult life combined, and it’s wonderful. He really likes Victor, too, and it makes him happy to make _Victor_ happy if his husband refuses to do that for him.

Victor’s expression changes immediately from pouty, a little wobbly, to surprised and delighted, and he moans into the kiss.

He’s wearing a pretty, flowy skirt – Yuuri notices because he so rarely wears them, preferring more masculine attire. When Victor brings Yuuri’s hand underneath it, Yuuri understands why.

“Here,” Victor whispers, licking his kiss-bitten lips, “I wanted to see you so badly.”

He’s not wearing panties, and when Yuuri touches him, he feels how sticky his folds are with slick already.

Victor lifts up the skirt shakily, spreading his legs just a little bit and batting his eyes at Yuuri from behind his hands and the bunched up fabric. Yuuri sees the silver of his hair trailing down from his belly, the pink of his flushed cocklet.

“Mm,” Yuuri moans, running two fingers along the length of Victor’s folds, from his twitching hole to his slick cocklet, “Really, I promised I’d help Yakov.”

“Did you?” Victor gasps as Yuuri’s thumb strokes lazily up Victor’s cocklet, where it peeks out from its hood, red and engorged. His feet plie outwards, and his hips thrust towards Yuuri involuntarily.

Yuuri presses Victor back against a desk, kissing him, their tongues tangling together. He keeps the slow, teasing strokes along Victor’s cocklet, watching Victor’s glassy-eyed arousal.

He feels suddenly bold with Victor latching onto him like this, clinging to him while Yuuri releases his cocklet and resumes running his fingers between his folds.

“Please,” Victor gasps, “My cocklet, please. N-need to feel you-”

Yuuri brings the feather duster up to Victor’s pink lips, pressing the solid edge against his tongue where it lolls out. Victor laps at it, takes the handle into his mouth, tears in his eyes as Yuuri teases him, refusing to touch him properly.

“Yuuri,” Victor whines, the sound garbled from the handle in his mouth, thrusting his hips along Yuuri’s hand, trying desperately to get Yuuri to touch him.

Victor’s tongue curls around the handle, saliva dripping down from the corner of his mouth, and Yuuri pulls it out with a _pop_ from the pink o of Victor’s lips.

Yuuri drags it down Victor’s throat, around the bob when he swallows thickly. He brings it down Victor’s chest, between his breasts, the fabric wrinkling where Yuuri tugs at it, before finally nudging it against the pink of Victor’s cocklet.

Victor inhales sharply.

Yuuri grins, loving how he can tease Victor like this, loving the wide-eyed pink-cheeked shock and arousal when Yuuri does something bold like this. He uses the handle of the feather duster to nudge Victor’s folds to the side, revealing the flushed pink of his entrance.

Victor whimpers. His thighs tremble, still exposed as Victor holds up his skirt.

“Please,” he pleads. “I’m so wet for you.”

_For me_, Yuuri thinks, the words taking possessive root deep in his stomach. _He’s wet for me, and I’ll show my appreciation, like Dmitry never could_.

The tip of the feather duster presses against Victor’s wet hole, and Yuuri watches it clench as he slides it in gently, slowly.

“Hah,” Victor gasps, “Hah, it’s, o-oh-”

Victor’s pussy clenches around the handle, his walls suctioning it in just like Victor’s mouth against Yuuri’s wet cocklet.

“Yuuri,” Victor gasps, as Yuuri presses the duster up to the hilt, until only the feathers at the end are visible, slick dripping onto them.

“Beautiful,” Yuuri murmurs, “You’re so good, Victor.”

Victor preens at the praise, cheeks red and eyes glassy and a strand of saliva on the corner of his lip.

Yuuri brushes it away with his thumb, beginning to thrust the handle in and out of Victor gently, drinking in the little mewls coming from Victor’s throat and the slick sounds of his pussy clenching on the duster.

“Please,” Victor pleads, “My cocklet, please-”

“Please?” Yuuri teases.

Victor’s already flushed cheeks go even redder. Beneath the fabric of his shirt, Yuuri sees the flush on his chest just barely peaking out.

“Please touch it,” Victor gasps. “I need it, please touch it. My cocklet.”

Yuuri kisses Victor’s neck, their bodies pressed back against the desk. Victor still holds his skirt up, so Yuuri grips his fat cocklet in one hand, the feathers from the duster tickling his knuckles as he strokes it roughly.

Yuuri’s palm fits almost entirely around Victor’s cocklet, his thumb stroking along the pulsing vein along it and dipping beneath the little hood to stroke him further down.

Male omega’s cocklets are a bit bigger than a female omega’s clit, though Yuuri thinks bitterly that Dmitry clearly still manages to ignore Victor’s even with how much more visible it is.

“Yuuri!” Victor cries, and Yuuri flinches in fear as he remembers just where they are. He captures Victor’s lips in a kiss, still fucking Victor with the handle of the feather duster, still stroking his twitching cocklet.

Victor moans into Yuuri’s mouth.

Yuuri thinks of how Victor’s pussy clenches around the duster just like it had clenched around Dmitry’s cock. Dmitry didn’t care that Victor did that for him, didn’t look at his flushed cheeks and think how much he wanted to see Victor look like that just for him.

He fucks Victor harder, slick gushing from Victor’s folds, Victor’s cries getting higher and more wanton. Yuuri brushes a spot inside of him, he knows because he’s watching Victor, and he sees Victor’s eyes fly open and his mouth curl into a pretty little _o_.

“Yuuri,” Victor gasps, “Yuuri, I’m coming, please touch my cocklet more, your hands feel so good.”

Yuuri obliges gladly, feeling Victor’s body change and tense just like he always does when he comes.

“Yes,” Victor babbles, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around the duster, cocklet twitching, “Yes, Yuuri, pleaseplease_please-_”

He cries out as he comes, the sound ringing through the library and causing a stab of fear to pierce Yuuri even as he strokes Victor’s flushed, swollen cocklet until Victor sobs and collapses back from the stimulation, slick dripping down his legs and down the handle, still inside him.

Victor’s legs give out and he drops to his hands and knees, nuzzling against Yuuri’s leg as Yuuri grips him.

“_Yuuri,_” Victor giggles, skirt falling back down around his thighs. “Always so good to me.”

Yuuri feels his own cocklet throbbing and knows he’ll see his panties damp with slick later. Still, though, Victor was loud, and they’re very much not alone in the house.

“I should go back to cleaning,” Yuuri says pointedly, gazing in amusement at where the feathers of the duster poke out from beneath Victor’s skirt, the handle still inside him.

Disappointment flashes in Victor’s gaze, disappointment and something like desperation. Victor masks it quickly, though, puts on a coy expression and mouths at Yuuri’s thigh.

“But you haven’t come,” he purrs.

Yuuri thinks this is less about Yuuri having not come – which is fine, he’s sure Victor will make him come many, many times later – and more about Victor not wanting to be alone. He doesn’t want Victor to feel lonely or ignored, not ever.

“You can sit with me while I clean,” Yuuri says.

Victor pouts up at him, clinging to Yuuri’s thigh.

“Wanna make you come,” he whines, and Yuuri thinks,_ okay, so maybe it’s both._

Yuuri leans down to kiss the top of Victor’s head, and Victor fluffs at the part self-consciously.

“Okay,” Yuuri says. “I’d like you to make me come.”

Victor _beams_.

Yuuri lets him peel off his work pants and underwear, because he knows Victor likes to do that for him. He keeps the apron on, though his shirt doesn’t cover his naked ass and thighs, and he shivers as cold air brushes his bare skin.

Victor gently nudges one of Yuuri’s thighs up so his foot is on the chair, and Victor presses his face between Yuuri’s legs, hot, panting breaths puffing against Yuuri’s wet folds. The apron flops over his back, hiding Victor.

Yuuri’s breath hitches. He lets out a gasp as Victor’s tongue tastes him, like he has a dozen times before, hot and wet as it probes between his folds and laps at his dripping pussy.

“V-Victor,” Yuuri moans as Victor teases him now, lapping along his inner folds and refusing to touch him where he wants to be touched, tongue drawing lazy circles around his hole.

Finally, tortuously, Victor brings his lips and tongue to Yuuri’s cocklet, his pretty mouth closing around it and suckling gently-

“_Where the fuck is Victor!”_

Yuuri slaps his hands over his mouth to stop himself from screaming.

Victor goes sheet white and wriggles beneath the desk, Yuuri sitting his naked ass onto the chair and scooting it forward so that the desk covers his lower half.

The door creaks open to reveal a very irate Dmitry, and Yuuri’s heart pounds so hard he thinks it’s going to burst right out of him.

_Oh god,_ he thinks, _oh god, not like this, I didn’t actually want him to find out like this, it was just a fantasy-_

Dmitry fixes Yuuri with such an intense stare that he wants to sob and confess everything right then and there, and only the terrified puff of Victor’s breath against his knee beneath the desk stops him.

“Have you seen Victor?” Dmitry asks irritably.

Yuuri shakes his head. His scent is sour with nervousness, the area around him thick with the scents of him and Victor. He only hopes Dmitry can’t smell it from where he is.

Victor nudges Yuuri’s legs apart. Yuuri bites his lip, holding himself so still he’s barely breathing to stop himself from reacting-

And Victor puts his mouth on Yuuri’s cocklet.

Yuuri jerks so hard his knee hits the top of his desk. His hands scramble beneath the desk, pushing Victor’s forehead away from his folds. He feels Victor’s smile against his thigh as he pushes Victor back.

Dmitry looks right at him.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Fine,” Yuuri squeaks. “Yakov asked for help organizing the library. No Victor here.”

He picks up a few books from the desk helplessly with his free hand, making a show of flipping through them and looking interested.

_Please go away_, he thinks desperately.

Dmitry narrows his eyes. He sniffs the air, and Yuuri’s heart plummets to his stomach.

“I can smell him,” he mutters.

“Um,” Yuuri says, trying hard not to panic. “Um. Oh, right, he was in here a bit earlier, but then he left. I think he said something about gardening?”

Dmitry sizes him up. Then he leans back against the doorpost and sighs, under his breath, “That brat. Never around when I actually want him to be.”

Beneath the desk, Victor’s smile freezes against Yuuri’s leg. Yuuri boils with anger. He thinks, _maybe he’d be easier to find if you weren’t both absent and awful at the same time._

Yuuri stops pushing against Victor’s forehead. He grips the back of Victor’s head and brings him forward until his lips are at his folds.

Victor laps out, tentatively, and Yuuri strokes his thumb along Victor’s temple encouragingly.

“Fuck him,” he mutters under his breath, and Victor latches onto both his words and his body hungrily.

“I’m sure you’ll find him,” Yuuri says, carefully modulating his voice to stifle the gasps of pleasure as Victor’s tongue presses between his folds and laps up, the tip teasing his cocklet wonderfully. “He must be around somewhere.”

Victor smirks. He wraps his lips around Yuuri’s pink cocklet, tongue running quick circles around it, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through Yuuri’s body.

Dmitry sighs. “I suppose so,” he says. He fixes Yuuri with another intense look and Yuuri’s heart nearly stops, but he doesn’t push Victor away. His whole body trembles with the effort of not reacting to Victor’s wonderful, wet tongue, thinking how the feather duster is still inside him, how it must be bobbing between Victor’s legs as Victor eats him out.

“Can I help you with anything else?” Yuuri offers, trying for light and breezy, though his voice cracks at a particularly delicious stroke from Victor’s tongue.

“Hm,” Dmitry says, “Has Victor said anything to you? About… Oh, I don’t know. Just anything you think it would be important for the head of a household to know.”

Yuuri cocks his head to the side, pretending to think deeply about it. Fuck, he’s close. He’s so close. What’s he going to do if he comes and Dmitry is still there, watching him? Will Dmitry be able to tell?

“Nothing that I can think of,” Yuuri says softly.

Victor snorts from beneath the desk. His arms are on Yuuri’s thighs, his fingers spreading his folds wide to expose his cocklet further, his tongue lapping beneath his hood all the way up to the tip of his cocklet.

_Fuck, fuck-_

“Well, alright,” Dmitry says.

Yuuri lets out a short puff of air, muffling his cry as Victor takes his cocklet fully into his mouth.

Dmitry looks at him strangely. “Are you sure you’re alright, Yuuri?”

“Fine,” Yuuri grits out. Victor stops tonguing at him, staring up at him with concern, but Yuuri presses him forward to continue. “Everything’s fine. I should um, get back to cleaning now.”

“Of course,” Dmitry nods. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of Yuuri once during this whole, short conversation. “Of course.”

He turns to leave. Yuuri stifles a whimper behind his fist as delicious, terrifying pleasure builds between his legs. He’s so close, Victor lapping at his cocklet mercilessly, taking it between his lips and suckling at it.

Dmitry turns back for one terrifying second, and Yuuri’s heart nearly stops.

“If you see Victor,” Dmitry says, “Tell him that some Russian historians organization needs his notarized signature to release more of his old family artwork. Damned bastards won’t take mine, even though I’m his husband, _I’m _the alpha.”

“Of course,” Yuuri pants, Victor’s tongue driving him so wild he can barely think. He’s going to come, he’s close, he can tell-

Dmitry nods. He closes the door with a slam.

Victor sucks Yuuri’s cocklet so hard Yuuri sees stars, his tongue delicious and wonderful and oh, he’s coming, he’s coming-

Yuuri cries out as he comes all over Victor’s face, grinning up at him from beneath the desk.

* * *

“That was,” Yuuri gasps, “One of the most terrifying things I’ve ever done.”

“You liked it, though,” Victor teases, wiping Yuuri’s slick off of his cheek with his shirt.

“I did,” Yuuri admits, “I did. But still, god, the way he _looked _at me, like he could see right through me...”

“I want to do it again,” Victor gasps gleefully, “I want to eat you out, knowing he’s watching us, but he doesn’t know he’s watching us.”

“Oh no,” Yuuri shakes his head, “Oh no. Absolutely not. I’ve had quite enough accidental voyeurism to last a lifetime, thank you very much. Dmitry _scares me_.”

Victor snorts, though his carefree derision doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “He’s an idiot. Don’t worry about him.”

“I _am_ worried, though,” Yuuri hisses. “We’ve gotten careless. We have to stop.”

Victor pouts up at him. There’s hurt lurking behind his eyes, and Yuuri feels immediately guilty. He doesn’t mean stop everything, just – maybe not in public.

“I mean, we can still… Just not in public,” Yuuri clarifies, kissing Victor’s sticky cheek.

Victor keeps pouting, though he doesn’t look as hurt anymore.

“Sometimes I see you,” he mumbles, “And I just think you’re so beautiful. I want to do something with you then and there because – because what if one day you get tired of me and we have to stop?”

Yuuri’s eyes widen. He doesn’t quite know how to respond to that. The thought of ever getting tired of Victor – it’s unimaginable. How could he tire of that pretty smile?

“Well, it can’t be helped then,” Yuuri says.

Victor looks up at him in horror – but his expression changes into shock as Yuuri lifts him up in a bridal carry.

“Wow,” Victor giggles as Yuuri gives his ass a few solid pats over his skirt.

“I’m gonna have to show you that I won’t ever get tired of you,” Yuuri says, eyes glittering in determination. “Victor Nikiforov, with your permission, I want to fuck you for as long as you can stand, for as many times as you can stand, until you realize how much I want you – and that you don’t have to jump me at every possible moment.”

“Okay,” Victor coos, batting his eyelashes, trying to hide his surprise and delight. “Okay! I’m happy. Please, ravish me, Yuuri!”

Yuuri flushes beet red and his confidence almost fails him – but one look into Victor’s adoring expression and he thinks that this is definitely the right thing to do.

Victor giggles the whole way as Yuuri carries him upstairs.

* * *

“_Wow_,” Victor pants, for what feels like the hundredth time. “So much stamina, Yuu_ri_.”

Yuuri smiles, wiping Victor’s slick from his face, and effortlessly removes himself from between Victor’s legs to take a sip of water.

Victor doesn’t move from the mattress, legs splayed out like a doll’s to expose his flushed, aroused pussy to the cool room. He moans, whole body trembling, and wriggles a little deeper into the soft mattress with a little giggle, staring up at Yuuri almost bashfully.

Yuuri takes a sip of water from a hydroflask on the bedside table. He half wishes he had worn his fitbit while making love to Victor, just to see how many calories he’d burned in the couple hours since they’d started.

He tips the water bottle towards Victor, who groans and wriggles himself into a somewhat more upright position to take a few deep, panting gulps.

Yuuri kisses where tears of pleasure and exertion have beaded at the corners of Victor’s eyes as he pulls the water bottle away.

Victor moved around a lot at the beginning, letting Yuuri fuck him with his fingers and tongue while he was on all fours, on his side, standing at the edge of the bed – he let Yuuri sit him over the frame of the bed and slide his pussy along it until the glossy wood was sliding along his pink cocklet.

He’s slowing down, though, Yuuri can tell, moving less, letting Yuuri move his arms and legs and face. He’d eaten Yuuri out voraciously, then gently, then he’d let Yuuri sit on top of him and use his face however he needed.

Yuuri presses his tongue between Victor’s puffy folds and into his entrance, stroking his tender walls, searching for that familiar spot that makes Victor go wild.

Victor cries out, tears beading at the corners of his eyes, and throws his head back against the pillows.

“Again?” he gasps. “You want to – again?”

“Tell me when you’re past your limit,” Yuuri reassures him. “Tell me if you want me to stop. Do you want me to stop?”

Victor whimpers. Yuuri grasps Victor’s cocklet and Victor gasps, covering his mouth.

“No,” Victor gasps. “No, don’t stop, please, Yuuri, _please_-”

* * *

“Ah, yes, I’m very sorry that Victor isn’t able to come to the meeting today,” Yuuri says some time later, two fingers buried deep inside Victor’s entrance. He curls them just so and Victor lets out a squeak, face buried in the pillows and ass in the air.

“Of course we’d be happy to reschedule,” Yuuri says. “What time next week would work best for you?”

Victor bites down on the soft down pillows, whimpering as Yuuri fucks him with his fingers. His legs tremble, his hole clenches down on Yuuri’s fingers, his toes curl in pleasure. Yuuri’s lost track of how long they’ve been at this, but Victor is definitely slowing down, now. He whimpers and jerks with just the slightest brush of Yuuri’s fingers over his overstimulated cocklet, he’s so far gone that he doesn’t notice the drool dripping from his lips onto the pillows.

He’s so _red, _from the tips of his ears to his chest to his dripping folds. It makes Yuuri think of the lobsters they have waiting for them at dinner, sweet and succulent and dipped in hot butter. He’s getting hungry, he realizes.

“Tuesday at noon?” Yuuri finishes, spreading his two fingers wide to stretch Victor’s walls. His thumb brushes Victor’s swollen labia as he resumes fucking Victor. “Fantastic. Thanks so much Tatiana, we’ll see you then.”

He hangs up the phone just as Victor comes all over his hand with a wail.

\---

Victor lies back against the pillows, long silver hair splayed out behind him, sweat dripping down his forehead and chest. He’s just lain there for the past few rounds, whimpering and mewling and gazing up at Yuuri with such adoration Yuuri thinks his heart might break.

Yuuri strokes his sweet spot lazily, languidly, drawing one more orgasm out of him. His walls contract around Yuuri’s fingers, slick drips out of him and onto the sheets, soaked with sweat and slick and saliva.

His cocklet jerks and twitches, too sensitive now for Yuuri to touch, so Yuuri has to slowly make him come this way.

Yuuri thinks he might be at his limit – sure enough, as Victor comes down from his orgasm, he presses his thighs together in complete exhaustion and says, “I don’t think I can come anymore.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says, softly. Victor’s body is beautiful like this, all wrung out, trembling and covered in sweat. Yuuri hasn’t come as many times as Victor, but that’s alright. He doesn’t feel like he needs this as much as Victor does.

Victor’s arm covers his eyes, his red lips parted as he pants and gasps for breath.

“Wow,” Victor says, again. “Wow. Yuuri.”

Yuuri smiles, snuggling up next to Victor on the bed. He gently tugs the arm from over Victor’s eyes, staring at his red, tearstained cheeks. He touches a sticky tear track nervously.

“No one’s made me come that many times,” Victor breathes, “Alpha doesn’t usually make me come at all.”

Yuuri frowns at the mention of Dmitry, but he ignores the sour feeling in his gut. Maybe since he was married so young, Dmitry never learned the key to making an omega come – but why wouldn’t he have figured it out since then?

“I’m glad I can make you feel good,” Yuuri murmurs, nuzzling against Victor’s sticky cheek.

“_So_ good,” Victor giggles. “For hours and hours and hours. I’m not sure if I can walk now, though. You’ll have to carry me to the bath!”

Right, the bath. The sheets are horrendously sticky, their bodies are horrendously sticky. Yuuri stifles a yawn – it’s barely dinnertime, but he’s ready to pass out.

Victor scoots to get off the bed – and his legs nearly do give out underneath him. Yuuri gasps and holds him upright while Victor laughs, full-bodied and loud.

“Wow!” Victor says again.

They run the shower, Yuuri scrubbing Victor down with soap, Victor on his knees in front of Yuuri. Victor turns around with soap lathered across his pale body and takes Yuuri’s cocklet between his mouth one last time, fingering himself to one more orgasm before all but collapsing on the tile floor.

When Yuuri gets out of the shower, he expects to be the one the strip and re-do the sheets – Victor is royalty after all – but as he runs a towel through his short hair he comes out to find Victor already putting a fresh set on the mattress.

Yuuri cocks his head and Victor flushes, sheepishly.

“I’d sneak partners in to my parents house,” he says. “So I got used to stripping the bed before anyone noticed.”

Yuuri nods, still a little bit confused. He pictures a royal family as having someone to do that for them – servants who would strip the bed and put a fresh pair of sheets on before the master of the house had even woken up.

That’s not the first time Victor has done something decidedly _common_. Yuuri knows nothing about royalty, though, so he says nothing.

As if on cue, his stomach growls.

“Dinner?” Victor offers.

* * *

Dinner consists of full steamed lobsters. It’s extravagant, but Victor tucks into cracking the things open wildly. When he pulls open the tail, revealing the sweet white meat, he holds it up to Yuuri’s lips enticingly.

Victor snuggles close to him all throughout dinner, which is blessedly free of Dmitry. He wraps his whole body behind Yuuri’s as he dips the lobster tail in butter and lets Yuuri bite into it ravenously.

There are other things to eat as well – a fresh green salad with a thai-style peanut dressing, French scalloped potatoes, baked white fish – but the lobster is the star.

It’s so sweet as Yuuri takes it into his mouth, the lobster tail. The burst of butter makes this feel like the richest thing Yuuri has ever eaten. Lobster is not native to his hometown, so it’s _expensive_. Yuuri isn’t sure he’s ever really had it.

Of course, it’s not native to here, either.

“I never had lobster before moving here,” Victor giggles. “So expensive in St. Petersburg! It’s so much fun to eat them, isn’t it? Ooh, I should ask Chris to prepare us some proper Dungeness crab. It was one of my favorite things to eat in my first year here.”

Yuuri smiles. When Dmitry isn’t around, Victor really seems to enjoy eating anything and everything. Each bite is an adventure to him, each new dish something fun and exciting. Yuuri wants to show Victor some of his favorite foods, something he’s always been afraid to do since leaving Japan, because he knows that Victor will actually appreciate them.

“You know,” Victor says after a long pause full of the sound of cracking shells, popping a bit of buttered claw meat into his mouth with a nonchalance that Yuuri can tell straight away is fake. “Um. If you ever don’t want to, you know – you can just tell me. I don’t want.” He swallows, smile straining. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into… Any of this. I know I’ve been a lot these past few weeks.”

Yuuri blinks. A part of him thinks that this is something he should say as delicately as possible, think long and hard about, but the louder, more impulsive side of him takes over immediately.

“No!” he gasps, “No! I haven’t felt pressured into anything.”

Victor can’t quite hide his relief.

Yuuri frowns, popping a potato into his mouth, thinking of what he can say now, what Victor is really trying to get at here.

“Victor,” Yuuri says carefully, “You won’t lose me.”

Victor blinks, cocking his head to the side.

“I mean,” Yuuri continues, “I won’t get tired of you. You don’t have to do everything so suddenly, as though if you don’t I’ll forget you. It’s like… You think if I’m not touching you constantly I’ll stop touching you completely. I won’t withhold affection from you like that because I want you to be happy.”

Victor chokes on his lobster. He starts coughing violently, and Yuuri rubs soothing circles around his back as he gulps down water in between coughs, eyes watering.

“I want you to be happy, too,” Victor croaks, wiping at his eyes furiously.

He pops another fat bite of lobster tail into Yuuri’s mouth, still coughing, and Yuuri chews thoughtfully.

Yuuri wants Victor to be happy. Their relationship is currently making Victor happy, but Yuuri knows it’s just temporary – but what is the conclusion of all of this?

He doesn’t quite know. Yuuri has never really been good at thinking things through.

If thinking things through means realizing that he shouldn’t be with Victor, Yuuri doesn’t want to think about it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was really craving lobster for some reason while i was writing this???? stupid grad student budget ;-;


End file.
